Swami*…….

I was late for lunch, it was a Sunday. Spilt food occupied the top of the table. Silence filled the ambience; I took the last stool in the first column of tables, which apparently looked clean. I started eating, and just then I heard someone yelling, some one using foul language, I turned towards that direction and saw an old man (the canteen in charge) beating and slapping a small child, perhaps the age of 10. The boy didn’t protest. He bore all the beatings. Then he started wiping the tables with a piece of rag, the boy seemed to be a bonded labor, bonded to the kismet brought on upon him by birth. The child came closer as the table became cleaner, he came close to me, and I could see his face, the face like that of any other child, but void of happiness. His eyes showed his misery, misery not of his state but of his mind. He cleaned the table and I asked him his name, he looked puzzled, I tried again, Swami*, he said. I smiled and he returned the smile. He cleared the place and left, I could see him later near the wash basin, washing vessels, looking out at the other children of his age group, playing, laughing, enjoying their life, a life synonymous to freedom, but for him it was an antonym. He got carried away, and left the water running; the water filled the basin to its rim, sorrows filled up to the rim of his life, the treacherous and monotonous life that was devoid of freedom and happiness.
Slap! A sharp sound broke the peaceful ambience and what followed were a string of horrible words that were uttered from the mouth of the person in charge. I could see tears in his eye that got lost in the overfilled wash basin. I was as helpless as him, for I was bonded to the rules of the land that emanated in the middle of no where.
He didn’t say a word and finished the job and went to the back yard, where my vision could show no more.
The hands that should hold a pen, held a torn rag, dirty vessels took the place of books.
I met him the next day, and he came up to me and smiled, I smiled back. His eyes, transfixed to the books by my side, I felt a tinge of pain.
He couldn’t read but his eyes showed the perspicacity to learn, Day after day I met him, in the canteen until I had to leave.
I think to myself, how lucky we are, to study, to get education, to live life with freedom!
*name changed